Jamie whooped. “Cool!” he shouted. Lucy, in her stroller, let out a squeal of happiness. Jamie’s excitement was contagious.
When they arrived at the playground, they saw that all the teams were on hand. Each go-cart had to be checked by the officials running the race, and while the kids waited their turns they worked feverishly, putting final touches on their go-carts.
“Hey, Claudia!” Claud turned to see Jessi waving at her. She and Mary Anne were standing near the Glory Girls’ go-cart. Charlotte, wearing a helmet, was the driver, and she was showing off the team’s creation. “See, we made it so you can steer even if the go-cart is going backward,” she said.
“Brilliant,” said Jessi.
Mary Anne coughed and nodded her head toward the Rodowskys’ bright orange go-cart, which stood nearby. The steering mechanism looked awfully familiar.
“Oh, well,” Jessi said softly. “They say imitation is the best form of flattery.”
“And where did you come up with the idea for this special foot brake?” Claudia asked the girls. She had a feeling she knew, since there was a similar part on the Rodowskys’ go-cart.
There was an embarrassed silence.
Jamie broke it, calling to Claudia. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see the triplets’ go-cart. It looks really neat.” He pointed toward a purple go-cart with a crowd of kids hovering around it.
As they drew closer, Claudia saw that the team’s name was painted across the side of the go-cart.
“What does that say?” Jamie asked.
“ ‘The Fleet Four,’ ” Claudia read for him. “Interesting. I thought their name was The Speedy Three.” Then she spotted a small figure in a bike helmet. “Nicky?” she asked. “What’s up?”
“I’m the driver!” he cried, smiling happily. Then he bent over the go-cart to check one of the wheels.
Claudia saw Stacey and Mal standing nearby and gave them a quizzical glance. “How did this happen?” she asked. She knew, from reading their notes, that something big had changed if Nicky was not only on the triplets’ team but had become their driver.
“See those cool decals?” asked Mal, pointing to the go-cart. “They’re one-of-a-kind, and they were part of Nicky’s collection. The triplets decided they had to have them — and Nicky knew how to drive a hard bargain.”
Everybody cracked up. Score one for Nicky!
Then there was a screeching sound, and some static. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” an announcement boomed over the portable PA system. “It’s time for the races to begin. Will all teams please bring their go-carts to the starting line?”
As the kids pushed and pulled their go-carts to the area marked off by yellow ropes, the announcer explained how the race was going to work. Each go-cart would roll down the hill in turn, while two timers checked the speed with stopwatches. The prize money would be donated to the winning team’s designated charity. “Additional contributions to any of the charities are welcome, and we’ve set up a table to take them,” the announcer finished, gesturing toward a table near the starting line. “And now, welcome to the First Annual Stoneybrook Community Center Go-cart Races!”
The kids lined up to take their turns, talking excitedly. And the sitters? They were pretty excited too. Mal was rooting for the triplets’ team, now that they’d let Nicky be a part of it. Jessi and Mary Anne were sure that the Glory Girls were going to win. And Stacey and Claudia were for the Rodowsky boys. They were just crossing their fingers and hoping that the go-cart would make it to the finish line in one piece, with Jackie at the wheel.
Several other teams were participating too, made up of kids none of the BSC members knew very well. All the go-carts looked excellent, and Claudia admired the creativity that had gone into building them.
The races began. There were three heats, so each team had three chances to produce a winning time.
In between runs, Claudia began to wonder about something. “Where’s Kristy?” she asked. Nobody knew.
As each team took its turn, the crowd cheered wildly. The runs were getting faster and faster as the drivers learned the course. “Looking good, Jackie!” Claudia yelled as Jackie crossed the finish line in a blur of speed. “We can’t be beat,” she said to Stacey in a lower voice. “This race is all sewed up.” And it looked as if she were right. No other team was nearly as fast.
Then, suddenly, one more go-cart appeared on the scene. It was the Korman kids, Bill and Melody — with Kristy! “Are we too late?” she asked, panting. She conferred with the judges and must have convinced them to let the Kormans race, because soon Melody was donning a helmet and lowering herself into the go-cart.
“Uh-oh,” said Claudia, eyeing the go-cart, which looked long and low and very, very fast. “I have a feeling these guys might give us some competition.”
She was right. The Kormans’ go-cart was much faster than any of the others that day.
Kristy grinned when first prize was announced. Bill and Melody had chosen to give their prize money to a shelter for homeless people, which Kristy thought was a great choice. She was thrilled that they’d won. But she never let on how she’d learned about their “secret” go-cart.
“You look as if you’re feeling better, Abby.” Mary Anne smiled at me. “It will be great to have you back at school.”
I smiled back. “Thanks. I am feeling better, finally. I may even be able to make it to school — and to our meeting! — on Friday.”
“Cool,” said Kristy absently. She was staring out the window at Mr. Finch’s house.
Every member of the BSC was in my room, paying me a special visit before Wednesday’s meeting. I was feeling much, much better, although I still didn’t have the energy to make it over to Claudia’s. So the club had come to me.
“Kristy, what are you looking at?” asked Jessi.
“Not much,” Kristy admitted. She turned to look at me. “Have the shades been like that for long?” she asked.
“All day,” I told her. I’d been keeping tabs on Mr. Finch since I woke up, but I hadn’t had a glimpse of him yet. Why? Because his shades were drawn, and they had been since morning. What was going on over there? I was dying of curiosity.
“So far, spying seems kind of boring,” Stacey pointed out. “I thought you guys might be on the verge of catching a real criminal. But if this is what you’ve been looking at all this time, I can’t say I’m envious.” She stifled a yawn.
Kristy and I looked at each other and smiled. We both knew how exciting — and addicting — spying on the neighbors could be. But we didn’t expect our friends to understand. And, since Sergeant Johnson had sworn us to secrecy, we hadn’t even told them about all the latest developments.
“Tell me more about the go-cart races,” I said, to change the subject. Not that I could think about much besides Mr. Finch, and what might happen next. Were the police ever going to show up? Was Sergeant Johnson just humoring me, or was he really on the case? I was dying to call him again, but I knew he’d probably just tell me to butt out, though he’d find a much more polite way to say it.
“… was awesome,” Claudia was saying.
I’d tuned out the first part of what she’d said, but I knew she must be talking about the Kormans’ go-cart.
“I know,” I said without thinking. “I had a feeling that go-cart would be fast.”
Claudia gave me a strange look. “You what?” she asked.
Oops. “Um, I mean, from what you’ve been telling me,” I said. It was too embarrassing to admit just how much time I’d spent watching my neighbors over the last week. And I knew Kristy had enjoyed being mysterious about the Kormans.
“Abby!”
I turned to see Kristy waving a hand at me as she continued to stare out the window. Something in her voice made me jump up and hurry to her side.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Look,” she said, pointing. I looked, but at first I didn’t see anything different. Mr. Finch’s shades were still drawn, and th
e house seemed quiet. Then I noticed something. Mr. Finch’s car was standing in the driveway, as it had been all morning. But now its trunk was open.
“He just came out and put a box in there,” Kristy told me. “What do you think is going on?”
Before I could answer, the back door opened and Mr. Finch emerged, lugging a huge suitcase.
Kristy and I looked at each other, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it,” she said.
“What? What’s going on?” asked Claudia. She and the others crowded around the window in order to peer out.
“Is he going on a trip?” asked Mal.
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I don’t like the look of this.” I ran for the phone and dialed Sergeant Johnson. I didn’t care if he thought I was a pest. If Mr. Finch escaped, it wasn’t going to be my fault.
“Sergeant Johnson, please?” Holding the phone to my ear, I walked to the window. Mr. Finch had stuffed the suitcase into the trunk of the car and had gone back inside.
“I’m sorry,” said the officer answering the phone at the station. “He isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”
“Can you ask him to call Abigail Stevenson?” I asked, figuring my full name sounded more impressive. I gave the officer my number and hung up. Then I watched hopelessly as Mr. Finch loaded another box into his car.
“What are we going to do?” I asked Kristy.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” she said.
The other club members stood watching. “I don’t know what’s going on,” said Stacey, “but I have the feeling Mr. Finch may be history soon.”
“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” I said. “Is there?” Maybe Kristy had come up with some brainstorm.
She shook her head. “Not without putting ourselves in danger,” she said. “And we made a promise to Sergeant Johnson about that.”
Just then, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a car, driving slowly up Mr. Finch’s street. Another car cruised slowly in the opposite direction. “Wait a second,” I said, not daring to hope. I ran for the binoculars. “It’s them!” I yelled.
“Who?” asked Jessi. “The cavalry?”
She was joking, but in a way she was right. This moment was just like the ones in those old westerns when the cavalry comes charging over the hill at the last minute to save the day.
“Even better,” I said. “Sergeant Johnson is here. And I think that paper he’s holding might just be a warrant for a certain person’s arrest.”
That was the moment when everything started happening at once. Sergeant Johnson climbed out of his unmarked detective’s car, and two other police officers climbed out of the other car. Both were now parked in front of Mr. Finch’s house. At the same time, Mr. Finch emerged from his house, carrying another box. When he saw the men coming up his walk, he dropped the box and stood there for a second, as if he were paralyzed. I focused the binoculars on his face and saw that he was panicked.
Just then, three police cars roared up the street, sirens blaring. Another one came up my street, as if to cut off any escape route.
“Whoa!” whispered Claudia.
“Is he going to put up a fight?” Kristy wondered.
He didn’t. Instead, he put up his hands.
Sergeant Johnson walked right up to him and showed him the paper he was holding. Then one of the other officers snapped a pair of handcuffs onto Mr. Finch’s wrists, while Sergeant Johnson talked to him. I’ve watched enough police dramas to guess what he was saying. “You have the right to remain silent …”
Just then, bright lights lit up the scene. “What’s happening?” cried Stacey.
I swept the binoculars around until I caught sight of the TV cameras. “It must be Mystery Trackers,” I said. “I bet they’re filming the arrest.”
I will never forget that day. It was one of the most thrilling events of my life. After the police took Mr. Finch away, Kristy and I told our friends everything that had happened over the last few days. Then they all took off for the BSC meeting, leaving me to “rest.” Of course I couldn’t; I was way too excited. I could hardly wait to tell my mom and Anna about Mr. Finch. So far, they thought his greatest crime was mowing his lawn too early in the morning!
But before they came home I had two incredible phone calls. One was from Sergeant Johnson, congratulating me on breaking the case. “You did it, Abby,” he said. “I didn’t believe you at first, but you were right all along. Congratulations.”
He went on to tell me that Mr. Finch would be sent back to Iowa, where he’d be tried and sentenced for his crimes. Sergeant Johnson made sure to add that the Maguire family was doing fine. “From what the Des Moines police told me, the community out there is taking good care of them,” he said. “The kids will be okay.” He knew I’d been worried about that.
The other call was from Amy Shapiro. She had heard about the arrest and she was bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Great work, Abby,” she cried. “You know, that’s the first successful arrest they’ve filmed since I started working here!”
I congratulated her. “You were part of this too, you know,” I told her. “Without your encouragement, I might not have followed up on the case.”
“Thanks for saying so,” she said. “I’m trying hard to prove to my bosses that I deserve a full-time job here after my internship is up, and this case is going to go a long way toward convincing them. But most of the credit for this arrest goes to you. And all the reward money. The check is already in the mail.”
Reward? I could hardly believe my ears. Cool. Maybe I’d buy myself a really good pair of binoculars. Or, maybe not. What were the chances of catching another criminal in my very own neighborhood? Maybe I’d just take my friends out for pizza, instead.
The author gratefully acknowledges
Ellen Miles
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1998 by Ann M. Martin
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First edition, June 1998
e-ISBN 978-0-545-87460-1
Ann M. Martin, Abby and the Notorious Neighbor
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